


i'll end up like icarus

by duets



Category: GOT7, JJ Project
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-21 21:18:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7405180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duets/pseuds/duets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jinyoung underestimates elective art classes, and Jaebum 1. Gets bribed into helping 2. Gets his shirt ruined, by total accident 3. Suspiciously enough starts waking up to Jinyoung’s manic grinning more and more</p><p>-</p><p>or: they're flatmates, jinyoung is a law major, jaebum is a tired TA art kid, and there are Misunderstandings. oh, and also nora is there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the sunlight is trying to separate us

**Author's Note:**

> featuring a truly alarming amount of cameos by various jyp new gen kids, and The One monsta-x.

 

Jinyoung needed help.

“I need help,” he whispered to Jackson, the silence in the deserted library making the words sound extra ominous, heavy with hidden meaning.

“Accepting that you have a problem is the first step to personal growth, buddy,” Jackson replied in a half assed mumble, not even looking up from his textbook.

He gave Jinyoung a _thumbs_ _up_.

Jinyoung kicked his shin.

Jackson yelped dramatically.

“Do you want me to _die_?” he screeched, hand to his chest, eyes wide, shocked back into his usual full volume.

“Frequently,” Jinyoung replied, not guilty in the least. “But not necessarily at the moment, no.”

Jackson frowned at him, so deeply and obviously suspicious of Jinyoung’s good intentions that it was _offensive._

“What the hell do you even need my help for?” he asked, squinting at Jinyoung. And _pouting._ What a big baby.

Jinyoung rolled his eyes. In fondness, mostly. “Not _your_ help specifically, you jerk, that is not what I said,” he clarified. “ _A_ help, generally, _qualified_ help, preferably.”

Jackson blinked, his expression softening into something more curious and less completely unbelieving of Jinyoung’s good intentions. Good.

“Are we still talking about you taking up anger management classes?” he asked.

There was a beat.

Then Jinyoung kicked his shin again. “I don't have anger management issues,” he said. Jackson put his legs up, arms around them, and snorted in disbelief, the betraying fucker. Jinyoung was totally going to tell the librarian that Jackson had put his shoes on the chair. Served him right if he got expelled.

Though Jinyoung would probably get dragged out _with_ him. Asshole.

“So you're back into denial land now?” Jackson asked, grinning like the obnoxious ass he was. “Ah, Jinyoung. That's some deep aggression regression--”

“Shut up,” Jinyoung spat. When Jackson opened his mouth to argue. Jinyoung cut him off. “No. Seriously. Listen.” Which he guessed sounded, well, _serious_ enough, because Jackson closed his fool mouth, rested his chin on his knee and raised an eyebrow, signaling for Jinyoung to continue. “You know the art elective I picked up at the beginning of the semester, yeah?” he asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.

Jackson nodded. “The one you chose because Younghyun was talking about the amount of credits _he_ had, and you decided on a whim to register to so you could have _more_ credits than him, even if you're not even in the same _major,_ all because you are a competitive bitch?”

Jinyoung resented being called out on his competitiveness by someone who had once gone out in January snow on a dare, wearing only his underwear and a pair of flip-flops. In middle school. And then, again, _last_ _year_.

Mark had a vicious sense of humour, was the thing, and a penchant for suddenly rehashing juvenile shit everyone should have forgotten about.  And combining _that_ with Jackson's ocean wide competitive strike never ended well for anyone.

So Jinyoung resented being called out on a _minor_ thing by someone who was a serial common sense offender.

“Pot, kettle,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “ _Whatever_ reasons I may have had--”

Jackson’s mouth twisted into an obnoxious grin again. “Making Wonpil think you're the cooler friend--”

Jinyoung smiled beatifically, gritting his teeth so he wouldn't _bite Jackson's head off._ “The _fact_ ,” he said, calmly, evenly, “is that I need, maybe, hmm, a _little_ help.” Jackson's eyebrows hit his hairline. “Marginally,” Jinyoung continued, a tad nervous now with explaining the _why_ behind the request. “A truly small amount. Practically no help at all, honestly.”

There was no way in hell that Jackson would be fooled by that, Jinyoung knew. The small tinge of flinching omission would have registered even if Jackson hadn't been paying attention. Still. The stubborn part of Jinyoung, who'd once gone to school with a 40 degree fever and pretended all was well until he woke up to a certain frowning face in the infirmary, it--he--still had to try.

Jackson snorted, predictably enough, unfolding himself from his ridiculous Batman perch on the chair to reach out for Jinyoung across the narrow table. “Oh, little buddy,” he tutted, reaching over and holding Jinyoung’s hand. “Syllabus way more complicated than you expected, huh?”

Jinyoung sighed, suddenly too tired to keep trying to dodge the question, Jackson's amusement making his walls recede for now. “Yeah,” he said.

“Did it hurt to admit that out loud?” Jackson snickered, patting Jinyoung’s hand like people in cartoons pat each other's backs. With ridiculous enthusiasm.

Jinyoung’s eyes were maybe prickling a bit, his traitorous body relaxing under Jackson’s patronising touch. “A little, yeah."

Jackson patted his hand again, slower this time, still making the most ungenuine cooing noises, if a little less mocking. Jinyoung should not feel comforted, not by any means, not when Jackson was clearly _still_ more amused than sympathetic to his plight. And yet.

It had been a week of coming home and finding the apartment empty, a week of stuttered good mornings and of being flinched at anytime he got too close, like he had the fucking plague, or was a stranger or--

So he'd called Jackson over to study, and maybe Jackson had never really fallen for that excuse, it being so early in the semester, and it being Jinyoung. It was paper thin as Jinyoung’s fake cheerfulness over the phone when they'd spoken yesterday and anyone else--barring one other--would have _prodded_ but Jackson just sat there and waited, and annoyed the fuck out of Jinyoung while at it. Which was fucking _comforting,_ what the hell.

So maybe Jinyoung was company starved and maybe Jackson not--explicitly at least--calling him out on it, or turning it into a big deal, maybe that was making him emotive. Making him emote. Whatever.

“It's _art history,_ ” Jinyoung whined after a while, dramatic dam opening with a crashing wave, mouth working on instinct after seemingly so long being silent. “ _Introduction_ to art history, even,” he said, frustration and derision cutting through the layer of petulance. “It's been _two weeks._ How was I supposed to know it would be an actual class? With actual assignments?”

“Jinyoung _,_ ” Jackson interrupted, voice almost catching the tail end of Jinyoung’s sentence, his tone suddenly very serious.

Jinyoung blinked, confused. “Yeah?”

“Listen to me,” he said, and it was almost _quiet,_ or quiet enough for _Jackson_ that Jinyoung knew he was one hundred percent serious about whatever he was about to say. “And don't try to argue back.” Jackson spoke very slowly, both his hands now holding Jinyoung’s with genuine assurance. “You know if you just called him--”

Jinyoung froze, suddenly tense, muscles seizing up quick enough to be painful. He moved his hands out of Jackson’s grip, moved them away, hidden, unconsciously clenching them into fists. “Jackson,” he said, voice clipped with annoyance. And other things, maybe, that he didn't want to name. “He's _not_ going to help me.”

Jackson actually did a double take at that, shocked like Jinyoung had just said the most nonsensical thing on earth. Blue grass, green sky, _he’s not gonna help me._

“Why not?” he asked, tilting his head like a confused puppy. “He’s the _teaching_ assistant, why wouldn’t he help?” Jackson sounded genuinely baffled, was the thing, which combined with the dog eyes was almost _cute_ in its ingenuity. Honestly. Bless his heart. It touched Jinyoung, it really did.

So he tried to explain.

Without actually explaining anything. Which, he'd heard from reliable sources, was something he _excelled_ at.

“Because,” Jinyoung said, measuring his words, holding Jackson’s gaze. “We are not,” he tried, looking for the right word to fill the gap. “Talking,” he concluded. Knowing it sounded brittle, and not being able to do anything about it. Jackson raised his eyebrows. Jinyoung rolled his eyes.

“You fight all the time,” Jackson argued, which made Jinyoung tense up further still, frowning, muscle memory making him argue back that--

“That's not true,” he said, and then he tried relaxing, gave up and curved his arms around himself instead. His hands hurt. He was suddenly very tired. Or not any more tired _now_ than he had been since last week.

But.

“Jinyoung--” Jackson tried, face open, apology already halfway to his mouth.

Jinyoung raised a hand, interrupting him. “Nah. It’s fine. Just, leave it, okay?” he said, no irritation now, just old, weary exhaustion. “I'll get a tutor or something, or,” and he tried smiling a genuine one here. “I'll fail and get kicked out of the family register, it's fine. It’s no big deal.” He could move to Jeju and become a farmer or something. It was fine. Anything to get Jackson _not_ looking at him like that, and for the subject to be dropped, even if Jinyoung had been the one to bring it up in the first place.

He did that a lot. Ran his mouth thoughtlessly, aimed for A, hit Z, and then had to spend the rest of his time scrambling around swallowing the words _back_.

Hadn't heard that one from a reliable source as much as watched its _effect_ on the reliable source.

Jackson looked at him, half pity, half confused exasperation, like he couldn't understand, couldn't bring himself to even begin to parse Jinyoung’s logic. “Just call him, Jinyoung. Apologise.”

Jinyoung scoffed. “He _lives_ with me, I don’t need to call him,” he said. And then added, just to be an ass, “And besides, who even _calls_ people these days?”

Jackson stared at him like Jinyoung’s stubbornness physically pained him. Jinyoung ignored the looks.

“Go back to studying, I’ll figure something out,” he said, making himself move from his tense pose, trying to get his shoulders to work again.

Jackson didn't look very convinced.

“Honestly,” Jinyoung said, trying to smile. He picked up a pen, looked back down to his notes like that was the end of that. “I’ll be fine.”

Jackson stared at him for a while, still. Until Jinyoung kicked his shin again and threatened to bail on coffee afterwards if Jackson didn't fucking _drop it already._

Because, yeah, he wasn't going to give Jaebum the satisfaction of reaching out first.

He could find a tutor on his own.

 

\--

 

They _didn’t_ always fight, was the thing. Or, more precisely, nothing they did that _looked_ like fighting to other people counted as actual fighting for the two of them.

So Jackson assumed they were having shouting matches and slinging insults back and forth, but that wasn’t fighting, really, when push _actually_ came to shove.

Because they _always_ argued, always, _always_ had, probably since the first time a teenage Jaebum called him _kid_ in that patronising voice that only someone _barely_ a year older than you can muster, and Jinyoung had spent the rest of the week calling him _hyung_ in the most passive aggressive way, until they were both yelling behind the school after the last bell. Jinyoung snarling _condescending bastard_ at Jaebum, while Jaebum just said _watch your_ _language_ and managed to rile Jinyoung’s temper even more than if he’d just spat a _bastard_ back.

So they had always argued. About school and about Jaebum’s dating choices and the state of Jinyoung’s room and how _fucking stupid_ it was of Jaebum to take care of Jinyoung while Jinyoung was down with the flu because Jaebum’s immune system wasn’t any fucking better than his.

They did not always _fight._ Or, again, not in any way anyone but the two of them could even begin to identify as that. The kids made fun of them not always needing to _talk_ to communicate, and maybe it _was_ ridiculous to anyone looking at it from the outside, and it certainly had its perks while in a crowded room where you just wanted to _gossip_ without drawing anyone’s attention to you, but it also. _Turned_ sometimes. Had another side to it.

They didn’t yell when they were actually fighting, was the thing. Didn’t really speak at all. People gave them a lot of _opposites attract_ shit, and the ruder ones wondered out loud how they’d remained friends for as long as they had when they were so _different,_ but Jinyoung knew better. Knew Jaebum knew better. The way the both of them turned the exact same shade of angry and silent when they were fighting and mad at each other more than proved that.

Still, much as he was a seasoned veteran at it by now, and much as Jinyoung could easily trace and identify the chain of things that led to their reactions, it was still. Not something he was ever prepared for, not in its full blown stage.

Jinyoung still didn’t know what to do with looking at Jaebum and wishing he were anywhere else but there.

Still didn’t know what to do when _Jaebum_ looked at him like that, and it felt like his whole world was askew.

They didn’t always fight.

But when they did, there was no way of ignoring it.

 

\--

 

 _What did you do now,_ Yugyeom texted him, later that night. Because he was a brat, of course, but also because Jackson couldn’t keep a secret to save his damn life.

Jinyoung ignored it, ignored Bambam’s _im not getting involved this time._ Ignored Youngjae’s kind invitation to go out for breakfast. He ignored them, kept his phone turned face down on his bed, kept pretending to be asleep.

Kept looking at the ceiling, ignored the silence in the house.

 

\--

 

When he woke up, Jaebum was already gone.

He didn’t have morning classes on Tuesdays. Jinyoung stepped down on the hurtful, bitter part of him that argued that Jaebum damn well knew _he_ knew that, and that Jaebum had obviously left the house early to make a point.

Jinyoung stepped on that thought, left the apartment without eating anything.

He didn’t have any morning classes either.

 

\--

 

They’d already been fighting when he did it, was the thing. Which. He could reasonably blame his actions on how messed up the fighting had made his sleeping schedule. Probably could. Reasonably.

He couldn't even remember the context of the conversation that led to his signing up for the Introduction to Western Art History class.

Jinyoung only knew that one moment he'd been absentmindedly playing with the stapler on their study table, only half paying attention to what Younghyun was saying--and then he'd caught Jaebum smiling softly at something that Sungjin had said and--

 _And_ five minutes later he was pressing enter on the application form for the class.

Jaehyung had snorted, asked, “Can you even name a _Korean_ painter.”

Wonpil had raised his eyebrows.

And Jaebum.

Jaebum had stood up and left, quite abruptly, the moment Jaehyung had spoken.

The rest of their table had looked various shades of amused and uncomfortable after that, and Jinyoung couldn't quite understand why.

Until he did.

But by then, as Yugyeom would wisely point out later, he'd already _Jinyoung’d_ it beyond repair.

 

\--

 

Jaebum had been uncharacteristically _testy_ about the teaching assistant thing.

Not that testiness was uncharacteristic to him in _general,_ just that the things he was usually testy about were silly minor stuff, like not having time for laundry day and having to ask Jinyoung to do it, or someone giving the kids a hard time at school, or rude strangers in film theatres being too loud. Jaebum and testiness went hand in hand, the weary, tired elderly person yelling at the _youths_ type of it. It generally revolved around expectations and not being able to meet them.

So this TA thing didn’t really make a lot of sense.

He’d got the position quite easily, as far as Jinyoung could tell. As easily as anyone got anything in college, anyway. The professor _loved_ him, had been positively _doting_ on Jaebum since freshman year and a thoughtful film theory essay Jaebum swore he didn’t even remember writing. Being reminded of how much the faculty liked him always made Jaebum blush, and _that_ alone meant Jinyoung had to brace himself every now and then and make a mental note that sending a professor a fruit basket with _thanks for making my friend blush like a schoolkid_ would neither be appropriate _nor_ make any sense.

Jinyoung knew that what made Jaebum nervous and on edge wasn’t fear of biting more than he could chew, or of taking responsibility over something big. For an only kid, Jaebum was superbly fucking great at juggling responsibility.

Responsibility by itself, in and of itself, didn’t really make Jaebum testy at all, Jinyoung knew that better than anyone. It was not being able to _rise_ to it that did. Failing to reach someone’s expectations of what he should be doing, or n _ot doing_ something and by extension, inconveniencing someone.

It was ridiculous. Because Jaebum was, Jinyoung would loudly tell anyone whenever Jaebum wasn’t within earshot, fucking _brilliant._ Except Jaebum’s brain never quite got on with the programme and forgot to process that, making it so that Jaebum’s brain and Jinyoung didn’t really get along all that well sometimes.

So it wasn’t the position itself. It was something else. Connected to it, sure but. Still. Something else

So Jinyoung had asked, just before the semester started, exhausted from the trip back from Busan and already halfway to falling asleep with his head resting on Jaebum’s thigh, “You sure about this, then?”

Jaebum had tensed up, hand pausing in its carding through Jinyoung’s hair. Jinyoung frowned, opened his eyes to squint up at Jaebum, questioning.

“I’m sure,” Jaebum said, clipped, not really looking at Jinyoung at all.

“Jaebum--” he tried, but Jaebum cut him off before Jinyoung could even decide on what he was going to say.

“It’s fine. Go back to sleep,” he said, looking at Jinyoung now. And Jinyoung had got distracted, because Jaebum had smiled and his eyes had crinkled so fucking pretty, and he was back to petting Jinyoung and Jinyoung was _really fucking tired._

So that had been that.

 

\--

 

He kept being fucking testy the entire week before registration started, kept looking at Jinyoung weirdly when he thought Jinyoung couldn't see. Jaebum had looked fucking _unsure_ and Jinyoung didn’t really. Understand why. So he’d taken a stab at it.

He wasn’t. Forceful or anything.

 _You know that if you wanted you could do much better than a liberal arts major, is_  what Jinyoung had said. No malice, no hidden intent. He’d just wanted to fucking _know._ It had just slipped out while they were having dinner, side by side, Jaebum tired and complaining about having to juggle his two jobs and however many projects he'd got thrown into this semester.

It had just. Slipped.

And then, where seconds before Jaebum’s arm had been touching his--warm, close, familiar--suddenly there was no Jaebum at all.

He'd got up, chapchae left half untouched, said _I’m tired_ and left to his room.

He hadn't said anything to Jinyoung but polite, detached greetings for the past two weeks.

He never raised his voice, he never slammed the doors. He didn't try to wiggle out of outings that included Jinyoung, but neither did he go out of his way to include Jinyoung in things.

Jinyoung didn't _get_ it.

It had just slipped.

 

\--

 

Usually, Jinyoung knew from kilometres away when a fight was his fault.

Even _before_ a fight even started, sometimes. Pushed it to see if Jaebum would react, just because.

Usually. He knew.

Not this time, though.

Which. Made him _somewhat_ irritated.

Mildly.

 

\--

 

For all they all got a kick out of mocking Jinyoung’s “moods”, Jaebum always seemed to be the one succumbing to petty, rollercoaster-y reactions in their relationship. In Jinyoung’s opinion, anyway.

He knew Jaebum the longest. He was an expert on deciphering his reactions at this point. Was the reliable source to _Jaebum_ as much as Jaebum was his.

“He isn’t even reacting to something, because there was nothing to react _to_ but. He’s _over_ reacting,” he told Mark, the two of them sitting at the very back of a lecture hall, the speaker’s voice booming so loudly in the crowded room that Jinyoung didn’t even need to whisper. “I was trying to fucking _help._ ”

“Jinyoung,” Mark said, eyes glued on the screen at the very front. If it were anyone else, Jinyoung would have thought they were ignoring him, but Mark’s ability to multitask ran as long as his patience. Which made him a very good student, of course. But also, and more importantly, his unwavering attention span made him the perfect friend for Jinyoung.

Who tended to ramble. On occasion. And lost his trains of thought. Sometimes.

“You pretty much told him he was wasting his time on his major,” Mark continued, cutting Jinyoung out of his reverie. “You always do that.”

Jinyoung huffed indignantly. “When have I ever--” he started, stopping halfway at the sideways look Mark threw at him.

“The first time we met, you introduced Jaebum as your friend _who could be such a great lawyer if he only tried,_ ” Mark said, voice level, like they were playing prosecution and defence and he was merely listing the weak points in Jinyoung’s logic, the holes in his argument. “Every time Jaebum’s career comes up you sound like a _disappointed parent_.”

Jinyoung swallowed, throat suddenly dry. He tried to explain himself. “I don’t-- It’s not on _purpose_ . That wasn't even what I fucking _meant_ this time. I just,” he scrambled for words to explain. How to translate the choir of _wasted potential_ and _he looked unsure._ Scrambled and ended up tripping on the wrong sentence. “Hyung, you should have _seen_ him in school--”

Mark finally turned to look at Jinyoung then, and Jinyoung’s words died out under his scrutiny. “Do you even know Jaebum _at all,_ ” Mark said, tone flat, his gaze heavy, looking so very _disappointed_ that Jinyoung had to brace himself not to flinch.

Jinyoung replied, voice small, trying for levity, “What is that supposed to mean? I’ve known him half our lives.”

Mark nodded. “Good,” he said, turning away from Jinyoung again to start taking notes. “Then act like it,” he completed, voice softer this time, if still tired.

At the front, the teacher had started listing the major points of international law, the various roles of diplomacy in different governments. It was droll and unnecessarily long-winded, but Jinyoung actually _liked_ international law. Normally, he would be paying attention, eager to listen.

But instead, all he could think about was Jaebum’s flushed face when Jinyoung had said _you could do better._ His eyes widening just a fraction, his hurt hidden so well, concealed with such practiced ease that Jinyoung was only now seeing it for what it was.

He had known Jaebum almost half their lives.

It had just _slipped_.

 

\--

 

If pressed, Jinyoung could probably pinpoint the exact moment his life had started going downhill.

He was fifteen--awkward, gangly in ways he hadn't yet mastered at the time. His teacher had said, bright eyed, handing him the pamphlet like it was solid gold, _just try it, Jinyoung-ah. It looks like such a good opportunity._

The trip from Busan to Seoul was excruciating, if not particularly long. Jinyoung’s nerves had been on fire, hands busy folding and unfolding his ticket, until his fingers were stained with ink.

It was just some dull essay contest.

On which a scholarship to a fucking prestigious cram school rode, but Jinyoung had been trying his best not to remember that, neck stiff with tension, mouth dry.

In the end, it was him and a kid from Seoul, unarguably, terrifyingly tied, standing awkwardly beside each other at some dingy makeshift podium, a tiny table of teachers clapping at them.

The place was only meant to hold one person, so Jinyoung had to hold the other boy’s elbow so he wouldn't topple, taking Jinyoung down with him in the process.

At the time, Jinyoung had thought: Three days into the school year, and I'll be rid of him.

It had been seven years.

Jaebum was still around.

 

\--

 

Jaebum had been irritating as a freshman, obnoxious as a sophomore and all of those _, combined_ as a senior but also. Also fucking _brilliant._ Was the point.

When he’d been elected as class representative, sophomore year, Jinyoung was completely unsurprised. He’d won almost unanimously, barring one vote, and Jinyoung liked to joke that that missing number had been him, trying to keep Jaebum’s ego in check.

Jaebum just laughed and laughed, ridiculous teeth showing. It wasn’t even that funny, but Jinyoung still never stopped him from doing it.

Jinyoung remembered watching Jaebum giving speeches during school board meetings, remembered Jaebum winning every goddamn debate under the sun, his obnoxious perceptiveness cutting people’s strawman arguments in half, making even the teachers rethink their positions.

It had felt a little like staring directly into the sun, or biting down into a sugar crystal by accident and with too much force, something warm and painful running through Jinyoung’s body, making him lightheaded.

Which. Well. Jinyoung mostly thought those things at night, when he was by himself, mostly kept his thoughts on Jaebum’s obnoxious competence to himself.

Jaebum had been a brilliant fucking spokesperson, was the thing.

The point.

Jinyoung didn’t want him to _settle._

 

\--

 

“Jackson texted me,” Jaebum said that Thursday night, right as Jinyoung was walking through the door, back from his Economics class.

Jinyoung almost shrieked. Barely caught himself before doing it, hands shaking as he locked the door behind him. Both because it was fucking _dark_ in the apartment and because Jaebum hadn’t spoken to him in a normal volume in _ages._

And also because Jaebum was fucking sitting in the fucking dark in the kitchen, like the too many superhero movies he pretended he didn't watch had got inside his head that he was _stealthy_ or something.

God. What a ridiculous asshole.

“Is the building on blackout again?” Jinyoung asked, taking off his shoes and leaving them by the door, trying to buy himself time to both plot Jackson’s future demise and to gather his thoughts enough so he could answer Jaebum with something that _wasn’t_ an avoidant question or a snap.

“He said you were having trouble with the class,” Jaebum said, ignoring him completely. His voice was toneless, eyes hidden. He was using his fucking reasonable, neutral voice on Jinyoung. Like Jinyoung was someone who needed to be _reasoned_ with. Appeased.

Jinyoung flicked on the light, smirked at Jaebum’s little startled flinch.

Served him right.

Asshole.

He didn’t even have to clarify _which_ class that was, and Jinyoung had to bite down on the instinct of snapping back _You don’t say. Guess fucking pretending I wasn’t in the classroom at all got in the way of you finding that out by yourself._

Which was unfair, because if it weren’t for his admission to Jackson that he needed help, no one would ever have known Jinyoung was having difficulty with the subject. He would have powered through, somehow, passed the class with a bright, beautiful C+. Maybe would have even avoided hurling a chair at Jaebum’s head so he’d _look_ at him.

The only reason Jaebum knew at all was because Jinyoung had spilled it to fucking Jackson of all people, which probably served him right for trusting that big mouthed jerk.

Jinyoung stood there, back still slung around him. He looked at Jaebum. Jaebum looked back, expression guarded.

“Jackson said you're having trouble,” Jaebum repeated, voice a little softer.

“Something like that,” Jinyoung replied, throat working painfully.

Jaebum just looked at him, like he hadn't in _weeks,_ and Jinyoung was suddenly tired, longing to be anywhere but there, pained at having to hold eye contact with the person he knew best.

“Goodnight, hyung,” Jinyoung said, the honourific landing flat and final and defeated.

He was turning to walk to his room, when Jaebum said:

“I can help.”

Jinyoung didn't want to see the expression that accompanied the vulnerable tilt of Jaebum’s voice, so he stayed with his back turned, nodded. “Okay,” he said, hands clasping too tight to his bag’s strap.

“Tomorrow after class?” Jaebum asked, still sounding like he was choking.

“Okay,” Jinyoung replied. Then walked away, so he wouldn't turn and do something stupid.

  
  
  
  



	2. like heavy baggage has been left in my heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there are awkward silences, candy, and someone goes on an impromptu cleaning spree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second part of (hopefully) four. i will conquer this self-indulgent thing if it's the last thing i do!!

That same night, Jinyoung waited until Jaebum was fast asleep and went out, nerve wrecked and unable to focus. He walked briskly to the 24hr store around the corner, passed the tired neighbourhood security uncle sitting in his little portable chair, who barely spared Jinyoung a glance, mind distracted while trying to keep warm in his thin jacket.

Bell ringing behind him, Jinyoung slipped the hood off his jacket, eyes immediately moving to the thin sliver of vaguely human shaped nothing behind the counter, who was drowning under two oversized coats and studiously ignoring Jinyoung in the most pointed way possible.

Brat.

“Don’t even say anything,” Jinyoung warned.

Kunpimook kept scrolling through his phone. He shrugged. “I’m quiet.”

Jinyoung started moving through the aisles, arms soon crowded with junk food. “You’re thinking it,” he called from behind a box of pepero.

He could _hear_ Kunpimook rolling his eyes. “Still not getting involved.”

Jinyoung walked to the counter, unceremoniously dropping his things in front of Kunpimook. “Just ring me up.”

Kunpimook put his phone down, looking up at Jinyoung with a smirk. “You know all this candy is really bad for people in your age demographic.”

Jinyoung fought the urge to smack the kid with a chocolate bar. “I’m going to return you.”

Kunpimook’s smiled widened. “To whom?”

Jinyoung reached out to flick him on the forehead, heart not really in it. The hit was easily dodged, even while Kunpimook was busy bagging Jinyoung’s things. “The Lotte that gave you to me at half price, you little shit.” Jinyoung didn't mean for that to sound affectionate. He was losing his touch.

“Say hello to hyung for me,” Kunpimook replied, unfazed. He held his palm open, waiting for Jinyoung to pay.

“Shut it,” Jinyoung said, handing him the bills. “And keep the change.”

 

\--

 

They met at the library.

Jinyoung had kind of expected Jaebum to want them to meet only at very secluded places, at very secluded hours.

He expected some sort of public display of how strained things were between them, some tangible change in behaviour he could point at and say, there, I’m not imagining things. Jinyoung expected a dramatic, sudden change in address, meaning both Jaebum telling Jinyoung he was moving out and dropping a _Jinyoung-ssi_ while at it.

None of those things happened.

Instead, Jaebum texted him a time and a place, all very reasonable. _Meet me for dinner & we can do revisions. _He had even included a sticker at the end of it. It was all very friendly, and very normal by anyone else's standards, but still Jinyoung found himself scrutinising every punctuation mark, looking between the lines for the way Jaebum really felt.

That night, after going through the syllabus and drafting some sort of schedule for the semester, when Jinyoung asked Jaebum if he wanted Jinyoung to walk him to his night job, Jaebum nodded, almost a bow, said _you don’t have to, but thank you._

Jaebum _smiled._ Jinyoung felt like throwing up.

 

_\--_

 

_I'm sorry_

Surrounded by empty bottles of disgustingly sweet strawberry milk, Nora valiantly trying to get inside an empty box of morinaga pies, Jinyoung stared at his phone and tried to come up with a reply to Jaebum's _don't worry about it_ that was just as flippant, just as casual.

The kakao app looked so obnoxiously cheerful that it felt like a personal attack.

Nora, head stuck in the too small box, fell from the bed with a hiss.

Jinyoung put his phone down.

 

\--

 

It wasn't that things were bad, not necessarily.

He had slowed down on the snacks, part out of wounded pride, part out of laziness. Kunpimook kept looking at him pointedly every time he went to the store, and Jinyoung didn't want to give him the satisfaction of taking his pathetic business elsewhere.

Jackson had said, “I’m glad you two stopped fighting,” eyes round and still managing to look sincerely concerned even with his mouth full with all the green tea koala biscuits Jinyoung couldn't bear to eat anymore.

Jackson had looked genuinely relieved, crumbs and all, and so Jinyoung hadn’t had the heart to correct him. Out of laziness, but mostly out of pride.

Because while Jinyoung would still argue that they hadn't fought as much as _disagreed,_ the current situation still looked more like a truce than anything else. And maybe calling it a truce confirmed the continuing fight hypothesis in the first place, but whatever. Jinyoung was nothing if not always selectively in denial about all things.

“You apology _texted_ him,” Mark had said, scrolling through Jinyoung's phone with all the authority of someone who had not been given permission to do what they were doing but didn't particularly care.

Jackson had looked at Jinyoung like a very disappointed squirrel. “ _Dude,_ ” he'd said, mouth still full. Jinyoung, guilty, couldn't even make himself berate Jackson for getting food all over his bed.

But even if the delivery had been half assed at best, the thing was that Jaebum seemed to have genuinely accepted Jinyoung’s apology. Or at least wasn't making a big deal out of it. By all means Jinyoung should be relieved: He was finally able to cross paths with Jaebum in the kitchen without wanting to hurl both himself _and_ Jaebum onto oncoming traffic.

It was cordial and very, very polite.

They had built a routine. It was fine. Jinyoung read, Jaebum paid for the coffee, neither talking much. They greeted each other in class, they ate together at home.

It was fine.

Their conversations circled back between their mutual friends and the class, a stuttered, suffocating loop of awkward small talk. It was as if they had unlearned how to speak to one another, as if Jinyoung hadn't known Jaebum since before anyone else had even come into the picture.

It was fine.

 

\--

 

That Saturday, Jaebum opened the door to Jinyoung's room without knocking first. It was still very early, Jaebum's bedhead a sight to behold. His eyes were half closed, dark shirt covered in fur, clear proof that he hadn't really started waking up, much less getting ready for work.

Jaebum opened the door to Jinyoung's room without knocking, and for a split sleep-addled second, Jinyoung believed they had gone back to normal.

Until Jaebum stared at all the packets of candy strewn across Jinyoung's room, blinked, and didn't comment on it.

He said, “I'm going to crash at Sungjin's during the weekend. Can you look after Nora until Monday?”

Jinyoung's throat felt like sandpaper. “Sure.”

Jaebum, eyes still glued to someplace between Jinyoung's bed and the wall, took a beat too long to reply.

“Sorry for not knocking.”

Jinyoung wanted to throw something at him. “It’s fine.”

Jaebum nodded. Jinyoung could read him well enough to tell his mind was already somewhere else, away from the mess in Jinyoung’s room. “Thank you,” he said, simply.

Jinyoung closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Jaebum was gone, door shut silently behind him.

 

\--

 

At seventeen, Jaebum had experienced what their school counsellor would call, in a grand show of professionally required euphemism, bouts of _temper._

Meaning: Some kid had beaten Youngjae up, and Jaebum had broken the kid’s nose. The kid’s friends had come after him, and Jaebum had got a split lip and a concussion to show for it.

In retrospect, Jinyoung could safely say that none of it was particularly more intense, or problematic, than what the other teenagers were experiencing. It wasn’t like any of them were in a gang, or like Jaebum had taken up smoking, or anything melodramatic like that. It was an only child thing, and it was a hormonal, emotionally repressed only child thing. An only child that had taken another kid under their wing for the first time thing.

In hindsight, Jinyoung knew all this. At sixteen, however, his own bouts of temper had also been quite notorious, if less loud.

It had been more _particularly gruff shoving match_ than _proper fistfight_.

“You punched hyung in the _face,_ ” Youngjae would say, awed, years later. The subject always seemed to come up whenever they went out drinking. Usually at Mark’s sadistic urging.

“I like to think of it as my shaking some sense into Jaebum’s dense head,” Jinyoung would inevitably reply, ears burning from the memory. Jaebum would snort, almost choke on his cheap beer, and say: "You told me I was _too smart to be acting so stupid_. And then you aimed straight at my jaw."

“It gave you character,” Jinyoung would bite back.

Jaebum would always, always grin at that, boyish and shameless. Like he was preening.

“You have a very weak chin area,” Jinyoung would say, swatting at Jaebum’s face without any heat to it, hand lingering on the curve of Jaebum’s jawline for maybe a little longer than it should.

 

\--

 

He’d seen Jaebum’s stupid unconscious face, was the thing. Stupid Jaebum, getting knocked out not fifteen minutes after stupid history class. Youngjae, looking guilty, and stupid Jaebum, going out alone. Jinyoung had looked at the blood on Jaebum’s uniform, and he’d been _afraid_.

By freshman year of college, they had both settled into what Yugyeom would dub _middle aged devoted passive aggression_. To be fair, it wasn’t an inaccurate description, but it only covered half of it: They were more prone to stilted silences, true, but that yelling match in the middle of the school’s corridor had uncoiled something in the both of them, a sort of mutually satisfactory agreement.

“Don’t fuck this up for me,” Jinyoung had said, incensed. His hand had been smarting something fierce, his eyes not very far behind.

“What is that even supposed to _mean,_ ” Jaebum had bitten back, voice strained from the shouting, from Jinyoung’s fist colliding with his face.

“I don’t fucking know,” Jinyoung had replied, exasperated. “But stop being an idiot.”

They had stared at each other probably for longer than the situation warranted.

Still, Jaebum never got into ridiculous displays of pseudo heroism again. Jinyoung and the school counsellor both breathed a sigh of relief.

 

\--

 

“Thank you for looking after her.”

Jinyoung scratched at the back of his neck, awkwardness setting his stomach into a frenzy. “Don’t mention it.”

Jaebum flashed him the kind of smile he reserved for customers at his job. “Thank you, still.”

“No problem.”

 

\--

 

The shift between barely restrained teenage aggression and a more mature _passive_ sort of dissatisfaction had happened gradually, slowly enough that Jinyoung couldn’t, even now, pinpoint the moment they’d gone from tense staring matches to rolling their eyes in tandem over Jackson’s head.

The other five being around had certainly helped, not so much by diffusing terseness, but rather through sheer pressure: they were obnoxious and loud in different ways, and that forced Jinyoung and Jaebum to come out of their respective shells, share in their joy. Or judge their joy. Whichever seemed more appropriate at any given time.

It was a slow going erosion, until one day they had looked up and Jaebum had pierced every space available in his ears, they had a cat, were living together, and Jinyoung was amazed at how well all of those things had gone. How smoothly.

If in the past they couldn’t quite find common ground on how to address each other--too close and too apart in age for any hierarchy to fit--then after moving together Jaebum had started speaking to Jinyoung in almost the same fond, half formal, half informal way he used to talk to _Nora_ , voice low and calm, unquestionably endeared. He spoke to Jinyoung with the deepest respect, polite and careful to an almost ridiculous degree.

Deferential, even. Which was hilarious, of course, in all its humble politeness.

Jaebum was still himself, though. Which meant he was a paradoxical mix of too polite and too brusque, almost like his manners were two witnesses to a case who couldn't make their stories match. Jaebum was polite, yes, definitely so, but he also barraged at times with flashes of thoughtless, tactless honesty. But still, at his most ridiculous moments, it was always like he was inviting Jinyoung in on the joke, a secret between them.

“I read somewhere that having a cat helps slow down your heartbeat, keep your blood pressure low,” he'd said once, smiling all with his eyes. “Maybe I’ll get a _third_ one, then. Find peace, become a monk.”

Jinyoung had let that one pass because Jaebum had been stroking Jinyoung’s hair at the time, both of them curled by the balcony door of Jaebum’s room, sunlight soft on their bodies, making a lazy afternoon lazier.

Jinyoung used to find it deeply embarrassing, the way his hyung would single him out so obviously, the stubborn way Jaebum refused to draw a clear line of hierarchy between them, making the others raise their eyebrows in amusement or become deeply jealous of the _blatant favouritism_ (Jackson.)

Lately, however, Jaebum always made sure to keep Jinyoung in his rightful dongsaeng place, layers and layers of stilted formal speech between them that he never let Jinyoung pierce through anymore.

Jinyoung had known him for _seven years._

 

\--

 

“Now you know how I feel,” Jackson said, sighing dramatically. Mark, sitting beside Jinyoung, barely suppressed a snort.

“My situation and yours are not even _remotely_ alike,” Jinyoung said, rolling his eyes.

From across the table, Yugyeom lifted his head from his textbooks, eyes glinting with mischief. “Does this mean you’re anti honorifics now? Can I drop the formal speech? Yah, answer me.” He sounded delighted.

Jinyoung let him bask in it for a second. Then he threw a pencil at Yugyeom's head.

 

\--

 

“Give him time,” Mark said, much later, after Jinyoung had sent Yugyeom home, bundled up on three extra scarves and one extra coat, and Jackson had gone out to get them coffee.

“We’re fine,” Jinyoung said, avoiding Mark’s eyes. He tried to sound annoyed and ended up sounding unsure instead.

“Wonpil tells me that Jaebum is spending a lot of time over at their apartment these days,” Mark continued, ignoring Jinyoung. “You okay with that?”

Jinyoung buried his face in his scarf. “I’m not his keeper.”

“Jinyoung.” Mark sounded _very_ disapproving.

Jinyoung turned to look at him. “You know what I miss? Back when your gossiping auntie network was focused on people who weren’t me.”

It took a moment, but Mark laughed at that, genuine and too loud. He slipped his arm around Jinyoung’s waist, muttered “Evading little ass,” just loud enough for Jinyoung to hear. Something in Jinyoung’s chest unfurled at the unmasked, annoyed affection. Unfurled, got a little lighter.

 

\--

 

“Do you remember that time in school when we got into that fight?”

Jaebum chuckled, eyes crinkling. Jinyoung tried not to stare too much. “When you punched me in the face, you mean.”

Distracted by the curve of Jaebum’s mouth, Jinyoung forgot to deny the punching, ended up blurting, too sincere: “I never apologised for it.”

Jaebum looked up from his japchae, startled. “You didn’t have to,” he said, eyebrows furrowed. “I _was_ being stupid.”

Jinyoung should probably have thought more about what he was going to say before bringing the subject up. “Still, I never apologised.”

Jaebum held his gaze, eyebrows raised. “Are you apologising _now_?”

Jinyoung wasn’t sure they were still talking about high school. “Do you want me to?” he asked, holding Jaebum’s gaze.

This time, when Jaebum chuckled, it sounded a little off. Not unkind, not mocking. Just tired. “I don’t think that’s how apologies work," he said. He wasn't looking at Jinyoung anymore. “Eat your noodles. They’re going to get cold.”

Jinyoung looked down, picked up the chopsticks again.

 

\--

 

It was still not comfortable, not a by a long stretch, to sit down with Jaebum and study. But it calmed Jinyoung down nonetheless, made it less awkward to walk with Jaebum to class, to approach him during a lecture.

“You got an eighty.”

Jinyoung looked up from his notes at a very, very pleased looking Jaebum.

“What, on the assignment? Even with all the Italian?”

Jaebum was full on grinning. “Yeah, even with the misspelled words.”

Jinyoung couldn’t really help but smile back. “I should have probably done a check,” he said, a little guilty. It had been a very rushed, printed right before class type of paper.

Jaebum shook his head. He kept smiling at Jinyoung. It was very distracting. “Yeah, you should,” he said, sounding a little breathless, a little distracted himself, for reasons Jinyoung couldn’t pinpoint. “Congratulations, Park Jinyoung-ssi,” he said. The formal address was gently mocking, a soft joke.

Jaebum looked _proud_. Jinyoung couldn’t stop staring. “Thanks, hyung.”

He’d missed this.

 

\--

 

“Hey. Where do you know Jaebum oppa from?” some random girl asked, coming from the other side of the room to sit beside Jinyoung.

Something in Jinyoung’s stomach turned. It was the being asked at all about what they _were_ , but also the tone of the asking. And the fact that he’d been busy taking notes and the professor was looking at them. “Best friend,” he replied, more curtly than his mother would have liked, hoping to get this over with quickly.

The girl looked a little incredulous. “Really? You don’t really seem the type. Very, you know,” she gestured at him. “buttoned up.”

Jinyoung fought the urge to roll his eyes. Fought the urge to tell her that Jaebum owned button up shirts too, thank you very much. Non plaid ones, even. “Look, we’re in the middle of class--”

She interrupted him. “No, listen. Do you think you could give him this number?” She slipped him a piece of paper. “My friend thinks he’s very cute.”

Jinyoung snorted. _Cute._ Yeah, right. “Okay, sure,” he said, folding the paper. “I’ll give it to him.” The girl looked delighted. After going back to her table, she kept throwing Jinyoung looks. He smiled back, amused.

Later, when everyone had started packing up and Jaebum was finished doing the rounds, he stopped by Jinyoung’s desk.

And then inexplicably started cleaning it.

“Hyung.”

“That’s a lot of candy wrappers,” Jaebum said, balling them up and ignoring Jinyoung. He seemed to be looking for something specific. “You shouldn’t eat during class.”

Jinyoung tried again: “Hyung.”

“Are you going to use this?” he asked, picking up the girl’s note from earlier.

“Actually--”

Jaebum balled up the paper. “You should take notes on a proper notebook. Stop using scraps,” he said, then walked away to throw Jinyoung’s apparently impossible to ignore trash problem away.

Jinyoung wasn’t sure what exactly had just happened.

 

\--

 

That weekend, instead of going over to Sungjin’s, Jaebum stayed home.

"You could bring him over," Jinyoung said, lying on his back on the living room floor, Nora purring on his stomach. Jaebum, watching TV, looked down at him from the couch.

"I don't really have to, though."

Jinyoung shrugged, a movement made awkward both by his position and the unmoving sleepy cat. Jaebum raised an eyebrow. "You guys have assignments to finish, don't you? You shouldn't be going out every time to his when it's so crowded. Here it's just us."

Jaebum looked a little unsure. "Only if you don't mind."

Jinyoung scratched behind Nora's ears, distracted. "Nah. You always cook better stuff when we have people around. It'll be fun."

 

\--

 

_wheres hyung_

Yugyeom's texts were, much like Yugyeom himself, always to the point and incredibly, incredibly disregarding of polite protocol. 

_How come he's hyung and I'm hey you? Also, how should I know._

A rude string of bored stickers later, and Yugyeom finally replied with a  _cmon hyung i need help w this hist thing. u literally live w him_

Jinyoung rolled his eyes.  _I don't have a tracker on him. He's in his room._

_cant u go there tho_

Technically, he could.  _He's in there with Sungjin hyung._

Yugyeom's reply took a touch too long to come this time. Jinyoung squinted at his phone. The stupid internet connection had to be acting up again.

_oh._

Jinyoung didn't like where this was going.  _What 'oh'._

_do u want me n bam 2 beat some sense in2 sj hyung_

Jinyoung snorted.  _You two should focus on beating your finals, brat._

Yugyeom replied with a  _just know were on ur side hyung. FIGHTING._ and then a string of cheerful stickers that Jinyoung didn't have the brain power to decipher at one in the morning.

He could hear muffled laughter coming from Jaebum's room.

He could, technically, go there. He didn't really want to, was the thing.

 

\--

 

They had decided to meet up at the cafe for their next sessions, sitting during the hour and a half that Jaebum had between his internship closing hours and the start of his night job. It made it easier for Jaebum, who no longer had to run from the library to there for his shift, and it gave them the chance to eat while working. The patrons that arrived between turns were quieter than the early morning crowd, and the two of them were usually able to find a large enough table to sit at.

Jinyoung spent a good chunk of that time getting distracted by Jaebum’s voice, by the fact that they were alone and talking again.

Which was probably a little bit pathetic, this blooming fondness Jinyoung felt every time Jaebum smiled while explaining some part of the syllabus he was particularly excited about. It was probably, _probably_ a little pathetic, but Jinyoung was way past caring.

It was eerily peaceful, just sitting there, annoying Jaebum with his bullet point summaries that were, apparently, too summarised.

“It's _art_.”

“So what? Oh, stop looking at me like I'm a _math_ major. I'll _elaborate_ when I have to.”

Jaebum's mouth twisted into a tiny smile, and Jinyoung had to bite down himself the urge to either grin foolishly or reach out and touch Jaebum, brush the melting snow off his hair.

Which was when Sungjin started showing up, stopping by their table to chat with Jaebum, turning the interruptions into routine.

That disrupted _their_ routine.

Jinyoung looked up from his computer and immediately regretted it. Their smiles looked like something straight out of a toothpaste commercial video, bright and perfect and freshly sweet. It made Jinyoung a little nauseous.

“So it's date time, is it?” Sungjin would invariably say, every time. Like he had to make extra clear what his presence meant.

And every time Jaebum would blush, say:

“Shut it.”

Look Jinyoung’s way for a flash of a second, then look down again.

Not that Sungjin couldn't stop by, or that Jinyoung disliked him, or anything like that. It just interfered with his and Jaebum’s schedule, was all. It made Jaebum distracted, a shy, small smile at the corner of his mouth for the longest time after Sungjin had already left.

Sungjin stopped by, three o’clock, coffee in hand, and Jaebum _brightened up._ He hardly even _looked_ at Jinyoung after.

Jinyoung had midterms in, what, three weeks. He had no time for this.

 

\--

 

Jinyoung _liked_ Sungjin.

He knew too much about Sungjin’s crying habits, from Wonpil, and morning habits, from that brief window of time when they all had lived more or less together, to not be at least _partial_ to Sungjin’s existence. Maybe even fond.

“Sungjin is fine,” he told Hyunwoo over a half eaten steaming bowl of greasy noodles, sitting outside the 24hr mart, waiting for Kunpimook's shift to end. The night air was cold and humid, coming in gulfs, which forced Jinyoung to huddle closer to his cup, shivering. “He just. Hangs around a lot in Jaebum’s room lately?” He frowned at the noodles, the fumes from them making his eyes prickle.

Hyunwoo raised his eyebrows. “In Jaebum’s _room_?”

Jinyoung nodded, mouth full.

Hyunwoo let out an incredulous snort. “What, with the door closed?”

Jinyoung swallowed, his throat working painfully for some reason. Never trust brandless ramyun. How much salt did this thing even have? He needed to tell Kunpimook off for this. Even if it was, technically, free food.

“Most of the time, yeah” he replied after a while, voice scratchy to his own ears. “One of them cooks, and then they just... Stay there.” Hyunwoo stayed silent, but the way his eyebrows seemed to be making a herculean effort to hit his hairline spoke for itself. Jinyoung scrambled to explain the story, even if the situation was all Jaebum’s doing, not his.

“Listen. It's not,” he tried, at a loss. “ _Weird_ or anything,” Jinyoung said, almost believing it himself. “They always ask before Sungjin comes over. Every time. He's always very, you know, _polite_ and never overstays or anything, but.”

Hyunwoo snorted. “He's around Jaebum a lot?”

Jinyoung toyed with his chopsticks, finding no interest in finishing his poor excuse for a meal. “Yeah,” he mumbled, avoiding Hyunwoo’s eyes.

Hyunwoo hummed sagely. “Which you don't like.”

Jinyoung swallowed. “I don't--”

A motorcycle drove by. Sudden, fast, almost _brushing_ the sidewalk, which was totally the reason why Jinyoung ended up accidentally breaking his chopsticks in half, suddenly incensed. Or maybe it was Hyunwoo’s words and Jinyoung’s empty apartment, vacant of Jaebum because of _sleepovers_ , that were suddenly making his temper rise.

“I don't _have_ to like it or dislike it,” he said, dialect starting to slip, making his words quicker, sharper. “He always _asks_ if Sungjin can come over, is the thing. And it's not like I can say, _no, hyung, go fuck your boyfriend somewhere else,_ is it,” Jinyoung continued, his laughter something hollow, harsh, his fingers still smarting from the broken chopsticks.

Hyunwoo winced, opened his mouth to interject, but Jinyoung didn’t let him speak. “Whatever, you know? Jaebum can go ahead and suck Sungjin off every day for all I care--”

Hyunwoo widened his eyes. “ _Jinyoung_.”

Jinyoung reached out across the rickety table to steal a drink from Hyunwoo’s beer, the liquid burning down his throat like acid. Instead of soothing him, cooling him down, it only made his mouth taste weird, metallic, his ears still prickling with embarrassment and something else he couldn't name. Probably a combination of the bad ramyun and the reckless speeding driver. “They can do whatever they want. Just not under _my_ fucking roof, you know?”

Hyunwoo looked at him like he _did_ know, and pitied Jinyoung a lot for it.

 

 

 

 


	3. my eyes can’t go anywhere else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which some misunderstandings are cleared, but tension continues to increase somehow.

 

“You know you could just, like,  _ask._ Right?”

It was the third time Mark said that to Jinyoung in the span of two classes and a short snack break. He didn’t sound like he was going to stop any time soon. Jinyoung was very much done with the meddling, well-meant though it was.

“Hyung,” he said. “I don’t need to  _ask_ anything.”

He knew how to read a room. And Jaebum’s had its door closed every time Sungjin came over now.

“Hyunwoo said--”

Jinyoung cut him off, suddenly tired. His headache was creeping back up.  

“Hyunwoo has a big mouth,” he replied, avoiding Mark’s eyes. “I’m fine, hyung. We’re past the halfway mark. It’s fine.”

Mark didn’t bring the subject up again. Not when they left for dinner, not when he was saying his goodbyes to Jinyoung. Jinyoung could still feel his concerned gaze when he thought Jinyoung was distracted, though.

He was fine.

 

 

  
\--

 

 

The nights Sungjin spent over, Nora avoided Jaebum’s room like the plague.

Jinyoung could relate.

 

  
\--

 

 

After some deliberation, prompted mostly by a weird text from Yugyeom ("u should keep an eye on ur mans man, hyung") Jinyoung started going to the cafe by himself. Ostensibly to relax after his self-study sessions, but mostly to stare at Sungjin while he worked.

“Hyung,” he would always greet.

“Hey, Jinyoung,” Sungjin would reply, his smile friendly and unassuming.

Jinyoung  _liked_ Sungjin, so he was trying to understand how  _Jaebum_ liked him.

It was a science project, almost.

He didn't have ulterior motives.

 

  
\--

 

 

"It looks like you're planning his death," Jackson said, sideeyeing Jinyoung suspiciously. He'd accompanied Jinyoung from the library to the cafe after nearly four hours of trying to teach one another dialectic without much success. 

Jinyoung would let the accusations go only because Jackson was paying.

He asked, eyes zeroing in on Sungjin, who had just appeared behind the counter. "How do you even know?" 

Jackson replied, "First? Try denying it. Will help with the police later. Second, that's how you look at me when I'm slacking off during group projects."

Jinyoung smiled. "I like the coffee here, that's all."

 

 

\--

 

 

“Sungjin tells me you’ve been going to the cafe a lot.” Jaebum was halfway through chewing on a lettuce wrap, mouth full like a cartoon squirrel’s, and still he managed to look suspicious. Jaebum was an only child, he had no business being good at intimidation.

Jinyoung very pointedly avoided his eyes, focused on turning off the grill.

“I like their coffee,” he said, after letting the silence and Jaebum’s patience stretch for long enough.

Jaebum narrowed his eyes. “Jinyoung,” he started, “if there’s anything--”

Jinyoung stuffed Jaebum’s mouth with another wrap, the last of the bunch. It was meant to cut him off, distract him from prodding further into Jinyoung’s intentions. “Eat, hyung,” he said, smirking at Jaebum, trying very hard to look him in the eye now. _We’re good. This is normal. I’m normal. We’re all normal here._

_No one is stalking anyone at their place of employment._

Even if the suspicious squinting didn’t quite disappear, it looked like Jaebum was trying not to smile as he chewed, so Jinyoung considered it a job well done. Crisis averted for the time being.

 

  
\--

 

 

One day, after hours of enduring their professor’s digression into the history of rhetoric, and what felt like days of avoiding Mark’s concerned glances, Jinyoung opened the door to the cafe, ready for a half hour of having too many cups of cheap cappuccino while ignoring Sungjin’s amused looks. He was halfway through taking off his coat when he caught Jaehyung talking in English to a red-faced Younghyun, saying something with the words  _Sungjin_ and  _boyfriend_ and _fucking_ in it.

Jinyoung didn’t want to stay inside long enough to understand what they were talking about.

 

 

\--

 

 

He didn’t mean to let Jaebum see how upset he was. It was just.  _Boyfriend._

_Really._

“Jinyoung?” Jaebum called, stretching over the back of the couch so he could look at who was opening the door. “You’re home early.”

Jinyoung was not even really upset. He was just, surprised, that was all.

_Boyfriend._

When he looked up from taking off his boots, Jaebum was already right there in his space. Jinyoung was not upset, but he still did not appreciate the proximity. For politeness sake. And because he suddenly really needed breathing room. “Jaebum,” he said, honorific slipping into the void. His voice sounded weird even to his own ears, detached.

“Did something happen?” Jaebum looked genuinely concerned, didn’t even acknowledge the drop in formality, and Jinyoung was. Absolutely not  _upset,_ but he still wanted to  _know._

He couldn’t just ask, though, that was not how they operated. Jaebum avoided answering direct confrontational questions if he could help it. And besides, Jinyoung wouldn’t give Jaebum the satisfaction, not after  _hiding_ things from him. They had known each other their entire lives, and Jinyoung suddenly didn’t deserve to know Jaebum was in a relationship?

For how long had this been going on, even.

“Heard something funny at the cafe today,” he said, finally looking at Jaebum.

Jaebum frowned. “Okay? Do you want to talk about--”

Jinyoung cut him off. “Something about Sungjin-hyung having a boyfriend.”

Jaebum looked stricken. “Jinyoung.”

“It’s fine, really,” he said, laughing. It hurt a bit, sounded like he was choking. “I just wish you’d told me earlier, is all.”

“I didn’t know you’d be this upset,” Jaebum said, voice very quiet. He looked  _hurt_ when he smiled at Jinyoung. “I really didn’t know.”

“How long?” Jinyoung asked.

Jaebum avoided his eyes. “From what I know, something like a week.”

From what he knew? Okay.

Jinyoung’s laughter was genuine this time, if a bit puzzled. “How can  _you_ not know?”

Jaebum looked at him, eyes narrowed. “I didn’t just  _ask_ him. I waited for him to come talk to me about it. Why would  _I_ know?”

Jinyoung blinked. “Why  _wouldn’t_ you?”

Jaebum stared at him for a while, ignored the question only to ask one of his own. “How long, then?”

What. “What?”

Jaebum’s mouth was downturned, a thin line of upset. Jinyoung had no idea what the fuck was going on. “You sound really upset about this. So how long has it been for you?”

“How long has it been since I what?” Where was this conversation even going.

Jaebum rolled his eyes. Jinyoung opened his mouth to argue, the anger from earlier surging back up, only to be interrupted by Jaebum, his voice almost cold. “How long have you liked Sungjin?”

What.

“What?”

Jaebum stepped closer. Jinyoung took a step back. “You’ve been going to the cafe a _lot_ lately, and you always look pissed off when he stops to talk to me, so. How long?”

This was not happening.

“Jaebum,” Jinyoung said, picking his words very carefully. He needed to be certain here. “Who’s Sungjin dating?”

Jaebum looked at him like Jinyoung had lost his mind. “What do you mean who he’s dating?” Jaebum cut himself off with an annoyed sound, hands flailing in frustration. Any other time this would be funny. “ _Who’s he dating,_  he asks," he mumbled. "Younghyun, of course.”

Okay.

Okay then.

“I don’t like him,” Jinyoung said, blunt, before Jaebum could interject again, ask something ever stupider. “I mean,” he started, suddenly shy. His ears were burning. “I like him fine, just. Not like that.”

“Then why--” Jaebum started. He looked pensive, almost calm. Jinyoung could not relate. “Why did you go to the cafe alone and kept  _looking_ at him, then?”

Jinyoung was losing his mind a little, actually. “I like coffee," he said.

"You like coffee?" Jaebum asked. Jinyoung was half sure they were talking about three different things at once.

"I like coffee," he agreed.

Jaebum blinked. “But not Sungjin.”

He desperately wanted to reach out and. Do  _something_  to Jaebum's stupid face.

“Not Sungjin, no.”

Jaebum stepped closer. Jinyoung’s back hit the shoe rack. "I made coffee,” Jaebum said, like that made any sense. His voice was low, eyes glued somewhere closer to Jinyoung’s mouth than his eyes.

Jinyoung was fine with eye contact never happening again.

“I like coffee,” he repeated. It seemed like the only certainty he had left in his life.

Jaebum looked at him and looked at him, for longer than was strictly necessary in a conversation that had derailed fifty fucking sentences ago. After studying Jinyoung for what felt like an entire year, he finally stepped back. “Let’s have some, then,” he said, then turned and walked to the kitchen.

Staring at Jaebum’s retreating back, Jinyoung could only blink.

What the fuck.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS FIC IS NOT DEAD!! IT'S NOT DEAD!! (and apparently neither is jjp....wtf jyp)


	4. (step step) where do we go now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a shirt that gets lost, only to later be magically returned to its owner.
> 
> featuring: Kang Sora, a Twice or two, a judgmental cat, questionable idol brand food, naps-- and, wonder of wonders, direct talks. or what passes for it with the two of them, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jinyoung *really* likes coffee, you guys.
> 
> ahhh, this is maybe too close to the last update but-- we've come to the end!!! tysm to everyone who's been reading so far (the comments and kudos warm my heart~) and who's been patient with how much i made those two dance around each other. your prize is a chapter full of youngjae cackling. (*whispers* youngjae is a stand-in for the author)
> 
> i cannot believe they're getting a comeback. i cannot believe they have a song called icarus of all fucking things. i can't believe i might write fic about it.
> 
> (for anyone keeping up at home, the songs used for the fic/chapters are: day6 - be lazy; suran - breathe; day6 - i'm serious; suran - step, step & day6 - like that sun, which is where the fic gets its title from!!~)

“You like… Coffee?”

In hindsight, maybe going out for drinks with Mark had been a bad idea. Letting Mark know what had happened last week as Jaebum _didn’t even let Jinyoung go past the fucking shoe rack to bombard him with very cryptic questions_ \--also probably not Jinyoung’s brightest moment.

Jinyoung refilled his glass. “It’s. A good drink,” he said, studiously avoiding Mark’s amused gaze. “It’s. Um. Unassuming, versatile--”

A snort turned into a giggle, and then a hand on Jinyoung’s shoulder. “ _Flexible._ Are you sure we’re still talking about coffee, hyung?”

Whose idea had it been to bring Youngjae along? Not Jinyoung’s, certainly.

“He has a point,” Mark said, not unkindly.

Everyone seemed to have a _point_ to make about it, if the new group chat (from which Jaebum was thankfully absent) was anything to go by. The sheer amount of messages were currently making Jinyoung’s phone battery drain even quicker than it already normally did, the buzzing non-stop ever since he’d texted Mark earlier inviting him out.

“Whose idea was it to involve the high schoolers?” Jinyoung asked.

“And Jackson,” Youngjae pointed out, from where he was now leaning on Jinyoung’s shoulder.

Jinyoung wanted to wave his hand dismissively, then realised he still had his glass with him. “Same difference,” he said, carefully putting the glass back on their table. “Whose idea was it to create this goddamn group chat? _The First Shop of Coffee Prince_? Really?”

Mark laughed. “It’s a classic. And, hey. Go easy on the hand gestures, grandpa. Also: slower with the drinking.”

Youngjae snorted, ticklish against Jinyoung’s shoulder. “Yeah, hyung. Someone might think you’re leaving coffee for so-- Ow!”

Jinyoung retrieved his hand from where it had just flicked Youngjae on the forehead. “Be quiet, brat number three. You don’t want to fall down the brat ranks.”

“No I don’t, hyung,” Youngjae mumbled, rightfully chastised.

Jinyoung patted his head in comfort. “You’re a good one,” he said. Then, to Mark: “You, though, you are terrible.”

Mark’s grin only widened. Jinyoung was tired of being surrounded by people with perfect fucking teeth. “I’m just happy you confessed,” he said, smile sweet, positively elated.

Jinyoung rolled his eyes. “Confessed. To liking coffee.”

Mark full on laughed at that, the asshole. “If that’s what you kids are calling it these days, sure.”

Despite what Jackson (and Yugyeom _and_ Kunpimook, who were both _six years old_ ) had to say about it, it had not been a confession. Or at least, none that Jinyoung consented to. Still, whatever it had been, it had managed to turn his dynamic with Jaebum upside down again, a nervous tension to their every interaction. Jaebum had spent the last class staring at Jinyoung, unblinking, like Jinyoung was a puzzle he was trying to figure out.

How was he supposed to take his finals like this? Was Jaebum trying to make him fail on purpose? Was he trying out new intimidation tactics on Jinyoung?

Jinyoung groaned. “Hyung,” he said, voice taking on a slightly desperate lilt.

Mark patted his hand, the patronising fucker. “Yes, Jinyoungie?”

“He keeps _looking_ at me,” Jinyoung summarised, cheeks suddenly flushed. He _should_ probably go slower on the soju. “What did I even _do_.”

Youngjae cackled so hard he almost hit his head on the table. Jinyoung was returning all of them to the Daiso discount shelf he’d fount them at.

 

\--

 

Jinyoung was certain no one could blame him if he killed all of them.

_ <3 cc~ _

_You know what cc means here tho right_

_Not campus couple?? :o_

_ㅋㅋㅋ_

_...coffee couple?_

All of them. Even Youngjae, bless his soul, bless his once number one spot in Jinyoung’s heart, was going to die. Youngjae, who had laughed when he should not have. Gone too soon, once beloved Choi Youngjae.

Jinyoung changed the chat name to _ㄷㅊ_. Jackson changed it to _Shut Up, Flower Bfs~_

 

\--

 

“They mean well,” Mark said, snorting.

“I hope they all have to relocate to Gwangju for college,” Jinyoung said between spoonfuls of his bingsu. It was as cold as his soul.

Mark smiled. “Even Jackson?”

Jinyoung pointed with his spoon. “ _Especially_ Jackson.”

“How is he after the coffee thing? And don’t give me that look, you know who I’m talking about.”

Jinyoung frowned. “Still _looking_ at me like I’m about to explode. But also,” he shrugged. “He’s been… Busy, I guess. Finals are close enough now that we don’t see each other a lot outside of the apartment. He says he wants to study together before our class ends, though.”

Mark raised his eyebrows. Jinyoung had a bad feeling about this.

“Don’t,” Jinyoung warned, needlessly.

“I wasn’t going to say anything. But, because Jackson isn’t here, I feel compelled to tell you, in his name, that you and Jaebum should consider booking room sixty-n--”

Jinyoung threw the spoon at his face. Mark, the shameless sadist, only laughed.

 

\--

 

“Sunbae, don’t get us wrong--”

“And we do really appreciate you coming here _so often,_ but--”

Nayeon cringed. “You can’t really _afford_ coming here this much.”

Jihyo nodded in agreement. “We’re worried about your allowance, sunbaenim.”

Jinyoung scoffed at the two of them.

“What are you kids even talking about? This is a great, affordable cafe--”

“In _Hongdae._ ”

Jinyoung ignored them. “Maybe a little off-ways from my usual places, but. It’s perfectly fine. I love coffee! I love you guys’ coffee!” he gestured to the three Americanos he’d ordered on a whim.

Jihyo looked at him with what Jinyoung desperately hoped wasn’t pity. “Oppa,” she began, very carefully looking him in the eye. “ _Everyone_ knows you like coffee.”

Nayeon smiled at him. “And it’s fine for you to do so, just.” Her smiled turned into something that looked more like a cringe. “Go like coffee somewhere else.”

Jihyo tried amending things: “You can’t avoid confrontation forever, oppa. And all those sweets,” she said, pointing at the pile of macarons he’d ordered. “They’re not good for you.”

Had they been talking to Yugyeom? Had they been talking to that tiny traitor Jimin? _Who had brought the high schoolers into this._ Jinyoung hoped all their babyak meetings got cancelled for all of eternity. Curse them with a lifelong supply of _actually_ cheap sunbaes, see if they would mock Jinyoung then.

“I’m not avoiding anything,” he said. “Now give me an iced cappuccino. And cake.”

 

\--

 

Jinyoung was not sure how exactly he was supposed to face Sungjin now. Still, he wanted to apologise for the… Constant cafe visits, and for any misunderstandings that his behaviour might have caused. It wasn’t because he was relieved, or because he felt guilty, honestly, it was just. To increase in-campus friendliness. Or something.

So Jinyoung knew he had to take the now very familiar path to the cafe and apologise. He just didn’t know how.

Jaehyung made his job easier by virtually accosting him before he could get to Sungjin.

“No one really thought you were into him,” he said, gesturing for Jinyoung to sit down in front of him at one of the back tables. “Just Jaebum, really.”

He looked amused. Jinyoung did not trust this.

“So we might have… Encouraged it a little.”

Jaehyung had been a lovely sunbae at initiation. Too bad Jinyoung was going to throttle him to death. “You what,” he asked, very carefully. Politely.

“Encouraged it. Just a bit,” Jaehyung replied, smiling at Jinyoung like this was nothing. “Even Sungjin, so really, don’t bother apologising.”

“Hyung,” Jinyoung tried, through gritted teeth. Jaehyung interrupted him.

“I hear you like coffee, Jinyoung,” he said, the picture of innocence. “Let me buy you one.”

 

\--

 

“So… You’re avoiding each other, huh.” Kunpimook was twelve years old, he had no business raising a smug eyebrow at Jinyoung.

“No, we’re not,” Jinyoung snapped, suddenly defensive.

Kunpimook shrugged, pointed at Jinyoung’s two bags of snacks. “What’s _that_ then?”

Jinyoung glared at him. “The beginning of my going shopping somewhere else.”

Kunpimook smiled serenely back. Jinyoung’s mind flashed at him an image from one of Jaebum’s stupid Simpsons episodes, Homer throttling Bart--

“You do you, hyung. Just know I’m only looking out for your health. Emotional and physical,” Kunpimook said, interrupting Jinyoung’s less than generous thoughts. He leaned over the cash register, whispered: “Your face is looking a little bloated these days, did you notice? Maybe go easy on the coffee-- Hey, what was that for?!”

Jinyoung was going to win a forehead flicking contest at this point. National Champion Park Jinyoung. His routines were done to the sound of the Beterang soundtrack.

“I _will_ call your mother, you cheeky brat,” Jinyoung threatened, letting go of Kunpimook’s hoodie. Kunpimook immediately deflated.

“Yah, hyung. Don’t say things like that.”

Jinyoung narrowed his eyes. “Ask Youngjae what happened the last time I called his mother. Ask him.”

Kunpimook was noticeably absent from the group chat that night. _hes regrouping jfc hyung you’re so savage sometimes;;_

Jinyoung was glad to have one last thing still under his control.

 

\--

 

“So you’re not going to the cafe anymore.”

Jinyoung wasn’t going to the cafe anymore because if Jinyoung kept going to the cafe then he’d have to explain to Wonpil why all his friends were dead. He knew Jaebum meant well. Still, _the shoe rack._ And telling everyone about it. Really.

“What, do you have a tracker on me now?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “Does Sungjin hyung miss me--”

Jaebum cheeks flushed almost instantly. “Yah,” he reprimanded, but it lacked true intent. “It’s just that you said you liked coffee--”

Jinyoung turned the meat around on the grill. Pointedly, some might even say aggressively. So they were back to talking about beverages like they actually didn’t know what they were talking about. Okay. “I like tea now,” he spat.

“Tea?” Jaebum asked. Jinyoung was going to move to Australia if these fucking cryptic conversations didn’t stop. “I can make tea.”

“I know you can,” Jinyoung said, exhausted.

Jaebum reached over to touch his wrist. Was he actively _trying_ to make Jinyoung ruin dinner? “How’s class?”

Jinyoung rolled his eyes. “Class is _fine._ ”

Jaebum smiled softly at him, the bastard. “I know. The professor _really_ likes it when you argue with everyone. I think she wants to adopt you,” he said, eyes crinkling. Jinyoung hated him. “We can still study later, though, if you want.”

Jinyoung was going to die from too much blushing. He loved praise, he loved praise so much it was going to land him into an early grave. “Yeah, sure,” he mumbled. He was talking in monosyllables now, like a fucking middle schooler. Great.

Jaebum tapped his wrist again, delicate. “You’ve been doing really well,” he said, very quiet. And then, grinning: “I’ll make us tea.”

Jinyoung almost threw the grill at his face.

 

\--

 

Nora nosed at one of the empty bottles of _SHINee Daily Sparkling Lemon_ scattered around the room. Jinyoung’s stomach felt like he’d just downed a gallon of bleach. He fondly remembered the days when he made good food choices. Rest in peace, responsible twenty something Park Jinyoung. His sisters would give him an earful if they saw him like this.

Nora licked at one of the bottles.

“Don’t bother,” Jinyoung told her, sprawled on the floor. “They taste like shit.”

Nora meowed at him.

“I know, I know. It’s a metaphor for how low I’ve fallen.”

 

\--

 

When they were eighteen, Jaebum had got his first girlfriend.

Jinyoung had liked Sora. Not even in a casual way, a my friend is kissing you now way, but genuinely. Took to her like he did his older sisters’ friends, comfortably, quickly. Enjoyed nothing more than going out with both her and Jaebum and watching his friend squirm when she scolded him. Enjoyed talking to Sora when they were by themselves, too.

“Hey, noona,” Jinyoung would always tease, “aren’t you tired of old men? Looking for fresher blood, maybe?”

“Park Jinyoung-ssi,” she’d always reply, smile bright and easy, eyes twinkling, “you did great at your interview for the post, and we will be calling you shortly to tell you our decision.”

Jaebum never seemed comfortable when only the three of them went out, however. Always a touch too silent, smiles far and few in between when the conversation steered his way. Jinyoung realised, two or three months into it, that the reason the discomfort was there was not because of Jaebum’s natural shyness, or because he was playing along with his grump role, but rather that it was Jinyoung himself, getting in the way.

He’d miss talking to Sora almost daily, would miss their easy banter, but he missed Jaebum talking normally to him more.

So he’d avoided them, cancelled group meetings, stayed out of the way for a while. He had planned to do so only until the two of them had started to build a routine for themselves, without Jinyoung there as chaperone.

He’d stayed away, until one day Jaebum _actually in real life_ threw a rock at his window.

“Are you anti doors now? I live on the _second floor,_ how did you even manage that?” Jinyoung scolded Jaebum after letting him into the apartment building. He’d considered calling the fucking _police._ “Are you Spider-Man, huh? Im Jaebum. Are you _crazy._ ”

Jaebum just frowned at him, arms crossed, refusing to get into the lift. “Why are you avoiding me,” he said. Jinyoung assumed it was supposed to sound like a question. It didn’t.

“I’m not avoiding you,” Jinyoung said, also crossing his arms. Two could play at this. “Who’s avoiding anyone.”

“Noona says--”

Jinyoung immediately perked up at the mention of Sora. “Oh. How is she? We texted but--”

Jaebum looked stricken, like Jinyoung had just slapped him. “Do you _hate_ me now?”

Jinyoung reached out to touch him, retreated when Jaebum flinched. “What are you even talking about?” he asked. “We’re going to the same university. We’re going to share a _house,_ where did you get the idea that I hate you?”

Jaebum stepped closer, eyes downcast. “Then don’t avoid me,” he said. Jinyoung could see the ghost of a smile play on his lips, half sardonic, half sad. “Because noona dumped me, and I deserve someone who’ll take me out drinking,” he said, finally looking Jinyoung in the eyes.

“I can’t believe I missed the chance of stealing her away from you,” Jinyoung said, softly. He reached out to touch Jaebum’s arm. “Can’t believe I got stuck with you.”

“Right,” Jaebum said, still looking sad. “Guess you’ll have to settle, then.”

Jinyoung scoffed. “I’m a very practical man. And your father loves me, I could never go away,” he said, eyes trained on the way Jaebum's skin was paler, how he looked thinner. The dramatic ass. “I’m gonna hug you now, okay?”

Jaebum’s head snapped back up. “Okay,” he said, looking terrified.

The auntie who caught them still at it, three minutes later, didn’t say much aside from letting out soft giggles from behind her hand.

 

\--

 

“You _miss_ him?” Hyunwoo asked, sounding amused but not unsympathetic. Jinyoung had no idea why he had agreed to going out jogging with him. Exercise always made him too sincere.

“Or something,” he admitted, blushing a bit. “We haven’t… The brats will tell you we’re avoiding each other, but we’re really not. The routine remains the same. He’s just. Vacant.”

“But not distant,” Hyunwoo asked.

Jinyoung shook his head, toyed with the bottle of Gatorade in his hands. “No, not distant. He’ll just. Keep _looking_ at me a lot, like he’s trying to figure something out.”

Hyunwoo laughed. Jinyoung didn’t know what was so funny about this entire situation.

“Hyunwoo.”

Hyunwoo shook his head. “No, no, I’m not making fun of you. It’s just. He’s being himself, Jinyoung.”

Jinyoung knew that.

“That’s the entire fucking problem,” Jinyoung said.

Hyunwoo laughed again, louder this time.

 

\--

 

Jaebum kept making him coffee.

Most days, they missed each other in the morning, Jaebum with his job and Jinyoung with his all-nighters. Their mornings were seldom shared, especially as finals approached. But, going on two weeks, every day, without failing, Jinyoung would wake up to a steaming cup of coffee on the counter, sugared and creamed to perfection.

He looked under the table once, just to make sure Jaebum wasn’t hiding there, waiting for the right time to pounce and-- Jinyoung wasn’t sure _what,_ but he knew it would involve Jinyoung having a heart attack.

Every day Jinyoung looked suspiciously at that cup of coffee. Every day he drank from it.

 

\--

 

One morning, Jaebum surprised him by being there _with_ the coffee. Only he chose to show up when Jinyoung was halfway through with the cup, eyes closed and savouring its warmth. The lights were off and Jinyoung’s sight was terrible: Those were the reasons Jinyoung would later use to justify the shriek he let out at the sight of Jaebum walking inside the room.

There was coffee everywhere.

Jaebum’s stupid Simpsons pyjama shirt was ruined.

“Hyung,” Jinyoung pleaded. “I’m so sorry, but what the _fuck._ ”

Matters were not helped by Jaebum just, taking off his shirt right there in the middle of the kitchen. “S’okay,” he mumbled, yawning.

Jinyoung averted his eyes like Jaebum’s chest was suddenly the most offensive thing on the planet. It was. “Just,” he stuttered, reaching out a hand without looking. “Give me the fucking shirt and I’ll take it to dry clean later since our washing machine is dead.”

Jaebum gave him the shirt, yawned again. Jinyoung bolted out of the room.

 

\--

 

“And so he asked _why am I not in the new group chat_ and I said, _how do you know about the new group chat_ and now there’s no new group chat.” Jackson sounded desolate.

Mark rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you fell for it.”

Yugyeom slurped his milkshake. “That’s like, Jaebum hyung’s most used intimidation tactic.”

Youngjae nodded. “He _never_ knows anything, but he sounds like he does. I don’t think it was Jackson’s fault, though. Hyung is very convincing."

Jinyoung cackled. “Jaebum is a _terrible_ actor,” he said, snorting into his soda. “He’s _really_ easy to read.”

Jackson glared at him. “Say that again when he just… Stares at you, unblinking, for like thirty minutes.”

Jinyoung shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

The entire table groaned.

"Ew," Kunpimook summarised.

 

\--

 

“Stop _looking_ at me,” Jinyoung finally said one evening, three days of very little sleep, two exams and three essays making him both very frustrated and very direct.

Jaebum chuckled from where he was also lying on their living room floor, surrounded by essays he still had to grade. “You say that like it’s something new,” he said, ducking his head a bit. His ears were bright red.

Jinyoung kicked him on the shoulder. The force of it was lost with how he was already halfway into falling asleep, Nora purring by his head. “Not like _that,_ ” he accused.

Jaebum looked up to stare at him. “Maybe you just weren’t paying attention.”

That night Jinyoung dreamt of summers in Changwon, the smell of cherry blossoms and the sea, his skin warm from the sun.

 

\--

 

Jinyoung opened the door to Jaebum’s room slowly, careful not to disturb him. He was convinced Jaebum would be hunched at his desk, fully concentrated and easy to startle.

What he found instead was Jaebum sitting on his bed, back to the wall, staring directly at Jinyoung, expression sour. Like he had been _expecting_ Jinyoung to show up uninvited eventually.

It was very sad, Jinyoung would easily admit, that he had become predictable to the point of not even being able to startle Jaebum anymore.

Perceptive bastard.

“Hey,” Jinyoung tried, looking fondly at Jaebum’s frowning face.

Jaebum squinted suspiciously at him. Unmoved.

“What do you want.”

Jinyoung tried not to grin. So he'd finally remembered the shirt.

Jaebum didn’t even bother phrasing it like a question, was the funniest thing. He just jutted his chin Jinyoung’s way, impatient and demanding. And honestly, Jinyoung should not have found any of that as endearing as he did, especially not when Jaebum’s suspicion clearly didn’t signify anything good for him. Especially not when Jaebum was clearly mad at him still.

“I’m sorry,” he offered. Jaebum looked unimpressed, his arms crossed petulantly, his posture closed off. He looked ridiculous. And impossibly cute. Jinyoung’s cheeks hurt from trying not to smile. “It _was_ a really nice shirt," he lied.

Silence stretched for a few moments, Jaebum continuing to look unimpressed at Jinyoung’s superb apologising skills, mouth a thin, annoyed line. “It was limited edition,” he mumbled.

Jinyoung had gifted him the stupid shirt. He’d bought it online for fifteen thousand won. They both knew this.

Jinyoung moved closer, tried bringing out the big appeasing guns. “Hyung,” Jinyoung said, eyes open wide, innocent as he could, the honourific rolling out of his tongue like honey. “I’m really, _really_ sorry for your shirt.”

Jaebum looked unimpressed, still, but also mildly appeased, which Jinyoung chose to count as a victory.

 

\--

 

Finals were less than a week away.

Jinyoung was going insane.

“How you doing there, buddy?” Jackson whispered to him. They were all studying together for once, and Jinyoung was currently trying to push down the flashbacks to earlier in the semester, when this whole thing had started. It didn’t help that neither Younghyun nor Sungjin could look at him without cringing.

“Just a little tired,” Jinyoung replied, clearing his throat a little louder than he’d planned.

Jaebum, sitting across from him, gave him a tiny smile. It was supposed to be encouraging, Jinyoung knew, but it only managed to make him more nervous, the memory of one class after the other flashing in his mind, the long list of responsibilities that were quickly piling up.

“I think I need to take a walk,” he said. Jackson frowned, worried. Jinyoung spoke before he could interject: “It’s fine. I’ll bring you something to eat, okay?”

He wasn’t surprised when Jaebum followed him outside the library.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m quitting college and becoming a sailor,” he said, very seriously. Jaebum just stared. “I really am.”

“Do you want to go home?” Jaebum asked, ignoring Jinyoung’s very sound college quitting plan.

Jinyoung wanted to be somewhere where Jaebum couldn’t look at him. Jinyoung also wanted to be somewhere where Jaebum could look at him without anyone seeing Jinyoung blush about it.

Finals were less than a week away. Jinyoung was a mess.

“Let’s go home,” he said.

When Jaebum reached out to take his hand, Jinyoung didn’t move away.

 

\--

 

Maybe Jinyoung was going to miss him.

Maybe Jinyoung was going to miss seeing Jaebum’s stupid face outside of the apartment, would miss watching him scold freshmen, would miss even Jaebum staring intently at him from the other side of the class.

“You did really well,” the professor told him after the final exam. “Obviously I can’t tell you how you did _now,_ but overall? You’ve been really good. At the beginning you didn’t really seem all that interested but you really came through.” She seemed proud of him, and Jinyoung half wanted to blush, half desperately wanted to beg for a letter of recommendation. “Maybe consider museum law, Mr Park.”

Jinyoung smiled gratefully at her. “Thank you,” he said, bowing. “I guess arguing with people when they were wrong really made the entire experience come together for me.”

Professor Park laughed out loud at that, her eyes sparkling behind her glasses. “I’ll keep an eye on you, Mr Park.”

From the other side of the room, pretending to be tidying up, Jaebum flashed him a bright, proud smile.

 

\--

 

“You’ve been doing really well at class, there’s no need to worry about the results,” Jaebum said. He looked down at his ramen cup in disgust. “Why do we only have EXO spicy ramen left in the house?”

Jinyoung slurped his noodles, shameless. “Because it’s the end of the semester, we’re broke, and my mom’s care package got lost in the mail. Don’t be a baby.”

Jaebum pouted. “It tastes _awful_.”

Jinyoung shrugged, drank from the soup. Maybe it tasted a little like plastic, so what. “I know,” he said, wiping his mouth. “I mean, the noodles are _fine_ , you just like complaining. I meant, I know I did well, it’s just.”

Jaebum looked at him like he’d just had an epiphany. Jinyoung hated this already. “I cannot believe.”

Jinyoung rolled his eyes, got up to throw their trash away. “Oh, shut it.”

He could _feel_ Jaebum’s smug smile, spreading like a disease, contaminating everything around the room. “You _liked_ the class,” Jaebum said. “It _helped_ you.”

Jinyoung fought a smile of his own, lost. “Professor Park is lovely,” he said, turning to face Jaebum, back to the counter. “The teaching assistant, though? Awful.”

Jaebum got up, walked closer until his toes were touching Jinyoung’s. “Did the coffee not help?”

The coffee had helped a lot. “I hate coffee,” Jinyoung said, staring at Jaebum’s mouth.

“So I’ve heard,” Jaebum replied, smiling again. “I was trying to poison you.”

Jinyoung reached out to smooth over the crinkles in Jaebum’s shirt. “I knew as much,” he said, distracted by Jaebum’s shoulders.

Jaebum hummed. “Why did you keep drinking it, then?”

Jinyoung looked up. “Got used to it,” he said, looking Jaebum in the eyes. “You could even say I settled. Maybe.”

Jaebum’s eyes looked a little sad, the dumbass. “I’m sorry you had to.”

Jinyoung’s hand was just resting on the curve of Jaebum’s waist now. He should probably retrieve it at some point. “Maybe I like settling,” he said. Softly, because Jaebum was an idiot. “Did I ask for your permission?”

Jaebum snorted.

“You’ve been doing really well,” Jinyoung said, echoing Jaebum’s words from earlier. “At everything, you complete jerk. Always. At everything.”

Jaebum raised his eyebrows. “Everything, huh.”

Jinyoung pinched him. “Shut up. You know what I mean. Your major is fine. The things you do are fine." Jaebum started to giggle. "Yah, don't be an ass," Jinyoung scolded. "I’m _proud_ of you.”

Jinyoung didn’t think he’d ever seen Jaebum blush this hard or this quickly before. “Yah,” he mumbled. “Don’t say things like that.”

Jinyoung was gonna send _himself_ that fruit basket.

He smiled at Jaebum. “I’m trying to win back your favour after the shirt thing,” he teased. “Hey.”

Jaebum looked up. He looked terrified.

“I’m gonna go for a hug now, is that okay?” Jinyoung asked.

Jaebum nodded. “You’re very needy.”

Jinyoung rolled his eyes, pulled Jaebum closer.

They only broke apart when Nora came trudging into the kitchen, a judicious meow in tow.

 

\--

 

“Go to your bed.”

Jinyoung ignored him, nuzzling closer to Jaebum’s stomach. He was blissfully relaxed, already halfway to falling asleep.

“I deserve this,” he said. “After today? I deserve this. I passed all my classes. Even _your_ stupid class.”

“I’ll let Professor Park know about your glowing review,” Jaebum replied, amused. “Go to your room, though,” he repeated.

Jaebum didn't move a finger to remove him, so Jinyoung stayed exactly where he was.

“I pay rent too,” Jinyoung slurred. He felt Jaebum chuckle softly, a rumble of warm movement under his ear. “Fifty, fifty. No way around it.”

Jaebum carded a hand through Jinyoung’s hair, nails scraping the nape softly, carefully. “I’m still mad about the shirt,” he said, aiming for stern and landing on fond. “And besides, your fifty include _your_ room.”

Jinyoung leaned into the touch, breath coming slow, words flowing unbidden. He couldn't open his eyes if he wanted. “How do you know,” he asked, curling his leg over Jaebum’s, covers tangling together. “Maybe my fifty is _your_ room. _Maybe_ this is mine. Everything here, within these four walls. Mine.”

Jaebum snorted. It was a short, happy thing that shook Jinyoung gently, made him relax even more, somehow. His hand moved to brush Jinyoung’s fringe out of his eyes, combing through it slowly, palm soft when it brushed Jinyoung’s forehead.

“And where does that leave me?” Jaebum asked, amused and warm, endearingly obvious.

Jinyoung scoffed. “Here. Within these four walls.”

Jinyoung didn't have to open his eyes to know that Jaebum was smiling, lopsided and unrushed.

“Ah. Jinyoung-ssi. You're very magnanimous today,” he said, voice low, more vibration than sound. He sounded _bashful,_ the absolute fool.

Jaebum was very soft, both to Jinyoung’s ears and to Jinyoung’s touch.

“Hush, glorified human pillow,” Jinyoung said, turning around. His eyes still closed, he fitted himself to Jaebum’s back. “Let's sleep.”

 

\--

 

“Can I kiss you?” Jinyoung asked when they woke up from their nap. His hands were clasped over his lap so he wouldn’t reach out and startle Jaebum away.

It was not an unreasonable question, and Jinyoung was _sure_ he hadn’t phrased it weirdly, but for some reason Jaebum just stared at him, dumbfounded, head tilted like Jinyoung had just spouted something incomprehensible.

“Who even asks that?” he said, smiling a little fond and very incredulous, eyebrows furrowed.

Jinyoung was so shocked he couldn’t even register the fondness, couldn’t even muster up the synapses connections to preen. Instead, he blinked, because _what kind of people had Jaebum been associating with lately,_ a question which brought with it the sudden but very clear desire to _track_ _down_ everyone who had ever kissed Jaebum without asking for permission first.

Because, what the _fuck_.

He was about to say _who_ doesn't _ask that, give me names_ but then Jaebum moved forward, placed his hands over Jinyoung’s thighs. He shook his head gently, chiding, and smiled--and then. Then his mouth was suddenly very, very much on Jinyoung’s own.

It was the laziest kiss he'd ever had, as sleep worn and soft as Jaebum himself, and Jinyoung _melted._

“Who even _asks_ that,” Jaebum said again after a while, coming up for breath, staring at Jinyoung with a disgruntled, awed kind of fondness that made Jinyoung want to cover both their faces. “Who _even,_ ” Jaebum said, grabbing a fistful of Jinyoung’s jacket to pull him closer and kiss him again.

And the thing was, Jinyoung was smart. He should have known of a hundred more elaborate, heartfelt ways to describe this. The feeling of Jaebum biting down gently on his lip, the way he pulled Jinyoung closer and closer until he was half on Jinyoung’s lap, until he'd got Jinyoung backing him against the headboard like some frantic teenager.

Jinyoung knew words, synonyms, similes, metaphors for all of this, but all he could focus in was on how _warm_ it felt. His hand on Jaebum’s jaw, the other on the curve of Jaebum’s neck, changing the angle so he could move closer. Jaebum smirking, Jinyoung’s ears burning.

Jaebum moved his hands up Jinyoung’s shirt and Jinyoung’s entire body became a pyromaniac exhibit. If he had known he'd be kissing Jaebum like this one day--if Jinyoung had known he’d have a lapful of Jaebum one day, pliant and demanding and playful and _warm,_ he would have led a healthier life, one that had made him strong enough to have only the _one_ heart attack instead of three hundred tiny ones in close succession when Jaebum’s fingers cautiously touched his bare skin.

“You wear too many… Things,” Jaebum said, pausing on his mauling of Jinyoung’s neck to stare, offended, at Jinyoung’s sweater, his tangled mess of a jacket.

“You are very eloquent today,” Jinyoung replied, amused, working on removing his two outer layers without any haste. "Top of your class, such vocabulary."

He folded the jacket.

“Jinyoung.”

He folded the sweater.

“Yah.”

He left the shirt on.

“Park Jinyoung.”

Jinyoung hummed, hands moving to touch the curve of Jaebum’s thighs, warm and heavy over his.

“Hey,” Jaebum tried again, hands catching Jinyoung’s by the wrists. He sounded a little breathless. “That's my shirt you're wearing.”

Well. He wasn't wrong.

“Jinyoung,” Jaebum said, and Jinyoung would never get tired of the way he said it, fond and so very, very  _fazed._  “You said the dry cleaners lost it.”

Jinyoung smiled, all teeth. “Take it back, then.”

And so Jaebum did.

 

\--

 

_You’ve been added to the chat “The 2nd Shop of Coffee Prince”._


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